


Signed, The Man in the Moon

by minsangthinker (peronazone)



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, College, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mingi is human, Not Beta Read, Strangers to Lovers, Yeosang is a gentle soul of a god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peronazone/pseuds/minsangthinker
Summary: Mingi meets Yeosang, a young god of the New Moon, in time he can't recall and that same god shows up at his doorstep as his new roommate. His new roommate who happens to be really rich and coincidentally in a lot of the same classes as him. And maybe glows sometimes.(or minsang college au with a twist)
Relationships: Kang Yeosang/Song Mingi, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 19





	Signed, The Man in the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> original prompt: minsang au where yeosang is a young god visiting the mortal realm to learn abt humans and the human he's been assigned to watch to learn... is mingi, the clumsy and forgetful college student- college au minsang with a twist

The crowds mutter a cacophony of sounds muffling the music playing a pop-y tune from a nearby storefront. Traffic is particularly loud this day so as people stare at their phones, adjust their face masks, or make quiet conversation with each other nobody manages the notice one person, in particular, standing out from the rest.

Wavy brown hair parting in short lengths, showing his forehead. Ends, a lighter blonde. Piercing eyes of a gray that shifts to blue and then brown as if they cannot decide on a single color. His skin, a pale tone with a golden glow as if his soul shines out from within. Jawline, sharp yet rounded in the perfect way. A single mark sits upon his otherwise unblemished skin in a pair of pink splotches by his eye and another more unnatural mark sits upon his neck in the symbol of a moon but only outlined in black ink, framed by silver glitter.

A suit jacket hangs loosely on his form. Going so far as to be completely off one of his shoulders. In a moment’s notice, he shucks it off with the saturated beads of red draping off it and the furs of the same tone attached along the lapel.

This would be a strange occurrence to see on its own were it not for the fact that the blazer never hits the ground. The moment before it even does, it simply seems to cease existing. Vanishing into thin air. Though this draws the eye to another mystery.

Long strands of blonde hair, wavy as the man’s own sit at his feet. He brings up a hand. He holds a golden pair of sheers loosely in his grasp. Glowing faintly though it could just be written off as a reflection of the sunlight, he cleans up the cut of his hair. Seemingly, having done it on that very spot.

There is no mirror before him. No object in which to view his reflection.

He simply cuts his hair as if the knowledge of how to do it perfectly already existed in his mind.

With such a sight, you’d imagine he’d be the attention of the whole area. With his otherworldly beauty, unusual habits, and anomalous aura.

And he would be.

If it weren’t for the fact that nobody.  
Absolutely nobody.  
Could see him.

This isn’t a fact that particularly bothered the man. He barely paid a passing glance to the people around him as he set about his work anyway. Scooping his hair up atop his head to swoop to a side, fixing it with calculated motions.

It’s an odd feeling. He’s never had his hair this short before but it’s a necessary change to blend with a new environment. It’s a sigh that leaves his lips at the thought. Why a male presenting individual cannot have hair as long as a female-presenting one without question is beyond him.

Humans.  
Are quite strange in their societal rules.

With a waving motion of his hand, strands of his forgotten hair on the floor fly up into the air into the sky to join the stars in the night sky. Little speckles of gold to fill the endless void of space. It’s a casual motion for him. A simple twist of his hand and the wind changed direction to pick them up until they could no longer be seen in the distance.

It may be daylight but he at least knows the significance of that action. He moves to brush the palms of his hands off on his black slacks. The shears leaving his hands in the same vanishing motion his jacket took moments before.

That’s the moment he’s taken for pause.

Eyes. He feels eyes on him.

Something that shouldn’t be possible at this moment. There have been a few humans to stare in his direction but they all were staring at empty space. Looking through him. These eyes… they’re examining him.

One blink. His head slowly turns in the direction. His own eyes set upon a figure not too distant from him.

A normal-looking human wearing a long red/grey flannel over a plain white tee and a pair of ripped blue jeans. His blonde hair, short but longer on the top and shorter on the sides, is swept back in place atop his head. A pair of simple yet stylish framed glasses sits upon his nose.

He stands there staring with eyes wide, having just looked up from his phone possibly to see this otherworldly being do things that should not be possible. Still. Amongst the crowds that part perfectly so both figures lock views across the way.

At that moment… the young god’s eyes finally settle upon a color. The shifting morph of colors darkening to a near pitch-black for a moment though the human holds gaze still even as his body shows a physical reaction to jerk back even further in the distance for no reason. His eyes settle on a deep brown. Shades darker and slightly greyed out in comparison to the man across the way.

In a split second of gut-wrenching shock, the man across the way averts his eyes across the crowd. Someone had to notice that. His eyes just changed color! Turned a solid black in the middle of the street. He’s GLOWING??

It’s mere insanity to think such a moment would go completely unseen except only for him. Maybe he’s hallucinating. He could not have just seen that. Could he?

Fear at the bottom of his stomach prevents him from looking back in that direction. His head resolutely set forward. Fear in the corner of his vision for if the figure will shift closer or away. He’s trying to focus on the music in his headphones. Turns the volume up a notch as if that will help. He’s learned in just about any horror movie that the weird, freaky demon creatures are attracted to the ones who show they can see them. Read too many stories of fiction and accounts of people with ghost experiences. Why him?? Why here? Maybe if he ignores it, it’ll just go away. It probably didn’t notice him, right?

Footsteps.

Footsteps he can hear even over the sound of his music.

It’s like as if his music is the only sound to exist and the footsteps are just over that. Playing out along with it into his ears directly. Aside from the beating of his own heart, it’s all he can focus on.

One step. A slight heel then the point of a boot. Another step the same. He tries not to count every step. His brain will go haywire calculating the distance he remembers the figure being and the number of steps it’ll take to get it right next to him.

His brain insists he knows this information. He knows how many steps it’ll take. But he refuses to acknowledge it.

He hears more steps.  
Same pattern.

Then silence.

That. That was not enough steps to be right upon him. He’s pretty tall but, even with his arm span, he should not be able to touch that being.

And yet a hand lands on his shoulder. He feels like jumping out of his skin. Screaming. Instead, his shoulders bounce up quickly and his eyes shut. He holds completely still.

“Mingi.”

A voice calls. Unfamiliar yet familiar in a way he can’t put his finger on. It confuses him. For a moment, he slackens the tensity in his shoulders. He doesn’t know why.

“Mingi!”

The sudden insistence has him shooting his arms up over his face. The hand on his shoulder starts to shake him lightly.

What does it want from him? Attention? He’s not going to open his eyes.

The voice morphs, twists as words exhale into the air around him. A twisted garble of nonsense he can’t make sense of. Just audible enough to hear but more like mumbles to his ears.

“Mingi!!”  
The voice is more insistent. The shaking more persistent.

It feels like the world shifts in one large movement that would give him whiplash in any rational situation but, before he knows it, his eyes are shooting open to see the ceiling. The ceiling? !! A face!

Popping into his line of sight is the face of his roommate- er.. ex-roommate as of last week. Choi San wears an unamused expression like it’s in fashion.

Mingi breaths out in an unusual pattern. What just happened? What is San doing here? Where is he?  
“You okay?”

His eyes focus back as San takes a seat, displacing the mattress beneath him for a near moment. The mattress. Right. He’s in bed. So, he must be at home. In his apartment. He has a strange sense of deja vu.

“You have a bad dream? Are you sick?”

San looks genuinely concerned, reaching out a hand and placing the back of it on Mingi’s forehead. Mutters something about ‘no fever’ and pulls his hand back. His expression shifts into a scrunch of thought before he taps Mingi’s chest with his fist.

“Hey, you’re fine! You’re here, I’M here, you’re awake, AND you’re not going to miss the first day of class this semester.”

San beams a signature dimpled smile that makes Mingi just wish he hadn’t moved out recently to a cheaper apartment with a friend.  
What did he do to deserve such a good roommate as San?

Wait.

First day of class…  
OH.

Mingi shoots up in bed. Well, shoots up as much as someone who was just in a deep sleep can. “What?! What time is it?” He says as he pulls his legs out from under the blanket and swings them around even San as he moves to get up off the bed.

“You still don’t schedule classes earlier than 11 am?”

San leans back on his bed completely unbothered. He rests back with his arms braced behind him on the bed now that he’s got more space. Simply watching as Mingi rushes about the room picking clothes out of piles and tossing notebooks in a hazardous pile in the middle of the room.

They were roommates long enough for changing around each other to not be weird. He once walked out of his room to find San cooking in the kitchen in only boxers and an apron. Claimed he was doing a science experiment with boiling water- Mingi decided he didn’t want to know.

He turns his eyes to San as he pauses with a pant leg. A pair of black jeans with some rips around the knees. It’s a quick solution to any styling debates his mind would try to conduct on a timelimit.

“How do you remember that?”

As San with a smirk on his lips goes to speak, Mingi cuts him off with fear in his eyes.

“Y’know what? On second thought, I don’t wanna know.”

Knowing him, he probably accidentally shared his google calendar with San. He doesn’t use it often but he doesn’t want to dare to think of what he’s left on there. San lets out a laugh that peaks in pitch at some point. Ominous. Absolutely ominous.

Mingi shakes off the thought and tries to focus on hopping into his jeans without falling over. No need to give San any more ammo today...

“It’s 10:20 am.”

Mingi nearly slips but manages to plant his second foot on the ground before his socks and sweep the floor out from under him.

“10:20?! I have a class at 11!”

Dressed in a pair of ripped jeans, the shirt he slept in, and a pair of fluffy socks? THIS is his first day of class look? A quick look at himself over in the mirror and his hair is even a mess from sleep. He’s got bags under his eyes from staying up late coding for his job- a compromise they made so he can work from home while he studies at university.

He sees San’s expression change. Eyes going wide for a second before he lets out a laugh through his nose and turns his head away. Mingi is glad he has such supportive friends.

“Well, then you better hurry!”

Solid advice, San. Solid advice.

Mingi huffs out a breath, pout on his lips as he throws on his favorite purple and orange jacket over his grey sleep shirt. Zips it up part-way so it’s less obvious. Looks himself in the mirror and runs his hands through his hair rapidly. The sides are recently shaved so there’s not much he has to do there but the hair atop his head is refusing to stay in one place. Strands of his blonde hair persist on falling into his face but he gets it to the point where only a few pieces remain doing that.

It looks intentional. It really wasn’t.

He speedwalks past San and slips on a pair of tennis shoes with stretch laces because that saves him more time. All the while, San is just sitting on his bed humming some tune and messing with his phone.

Which… reminds him..

Mingi picks up his phone from the nightstand and checks the time himself. San looks up from his phone and leans over to see Mingi’s screen. It’s 10:27. Took him only a few minutes to get dressed all the way even if he’s decidedly not dressed the way he would’ve liked.

“Your lock screen is still that picture Hongjoong took when he stole your phone?”

“It’s a good photo…”  
Mingi slowly pulls his phone away from view as he unlocks his phone and looks for his class schedule in his notes.

“It’s a selfie he took winking… and it’s like five hair colors ago for him,” San speaks with the authority of someone who knows they’re right. It actually is five hair colors ago and it’s spooky how San even knows that. Has he also been stalking his insta?

It’s as if he knows where Mingi’s train of thought went because he lets out a sigh and places a hand on Mingi’s phone screen to get his attention. Oh no. He looks serious.

“If you’re not gonna confess feelings for him, you should at least try to move on from him. You’re gonna hurt yourself like that. I’m worried about you.”

This conversation. Again. Mingi puts on his most genuine smile and pats San’s head, shuffling his hair about.

“I’m fine, San, really.”

“No, you’re not fine, Mingi. You had a nightmare! You weren’t waking up and your alarm was blaring. What did you even dream about?"

Mingi’s hand clenches around his phone. He drops his other hand to his side and bites his bottom lip as his eyes fall to the bed. It’s been a while since he had a nightmare. He’s recalled his last few and sure sometimes they involved his fears about.. a lot of things but-

“I.. I don’t remember.”

He feels as unsure as he says it as the look San gives him in response. It’s like something in him has to convince them both of this fact. He’s never had a dream that he can’t recall hit him in his core like that.

“Honestly! I’m probably just stressed about having a new roommate. It wouldn’t be the first time. Remember how quiet I was around you until you spilled flour all over the counter trying to make a ‘cake of friendship’? I tried to help you clean it up and we ended up making a bigger mess!”

San smiles slightly at the memory. He barks out a ‘ha!’ as he gets up dramatically and spins to face Mingi.

“That is only because you had the bold idea to see if you could turn my hair completely white with flour without me noticing. You called it a pie chart! You know I couldn’t stop thinking about that for the entire time I had that little highlight in my hair?”

Mingi raises a hand to his mouth quickly to hide his smile as he lets out quiet chuckles.

“I didn’t know that actually..”

He totally did. He noticed the extra time San would spend in the bathroom staring at his hair in the mirror. It was the most hilarious time of his life.

“Sure you didn’t, Mingi.”

San then turns and collects notebooks off the floor into the backpack by the desk suddenly. It confused Mingi for a moment. Then he hands the bag to Mingi, brushes his hands off, smiles, and pulls out his phone. Screen, facing Mingi.

10:38 am.

“You’re gonna be late.”

That little fox…

Mingi throws his backpack on and kisses San on the forehead as thanks-- an action that gets an immediate laugh and protest. That’s the purpose. Embarrassment. It’s the only way he can get back at the man in a rush.

“Safe moving! Say ‘Hi’ to my roommate for me.”

He calls as he rushes out of his bedroom into the main living space, collects his keys off the kitchen counter to shove into his jacket pocket. He doesn’t need his laptop on the first day of class, right? It’s probably no big deal.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he nearly doesn’t notice San lean against the doorframe of his bedroom with a smirk and calls out:

“Say ‘Hi’ to him yourself!”

What does he mean by that?

Mingi pulls the front door open.  
And nearly runs into someone on the other side.

Arm raised poised to knock on the door. Shorter in height than Mingi but that’s the case for most people. Wavy short hair in a blonde brighter than his own. It’s more golden than blonde almost and practically glows in the light. Brown eyes tinted in silver matching the silver chain choker around his neck and the cotton plaid patterned jacket over his shoulders.

“Mingi.”

A voice calls.  
A familiar voice calls.

Directly in front of him.

The man tilts his head to the side slightly as he looks at Mingi with an all too scrutinizing gaze. Eyes that now hold a power to them that wasn’t there before. His expression is blank. His dress is normal. He just seems normal so what is it about him..?

Their eyes meet.  
Mingi is frozen.

“ _..right?_ ”


End file.
